


One Moonlight Night

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:24:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked: Klaine, panicked yelling in unison because of lost baggage in between connecting flights au (LOL can they be strangers please?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Moonlight Night

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Elvis Presley's "Blue Moon of Kentucky"

"What do you mean, my bag is on  another flight?!"

Now, of all the sentences, Blaine didn’t expect this one to have an echo at the customer service desk.

And yet, there is another man, tall and terrifyingly beautiful in his anger, that just yelled in a panic at the other employee.

They look at each other and unconsciously slide closer on their side of the counter to face the employees who are awkwardly smiling at them and, if Blaine is not mistaken, slightly cowering.

“There must have been a mistake--” one of the employees says and Terribly Beautiful Man glares at them.

“You think?” he growls, and though the situation is not arousing in the slightest, Blaine can’t help but register that tone of voice for further inspection at a more appropriate time.

“Can--Can I get a look at your tickets?” the other employee asks, professional and brave, but it only lasts a second before she seems to try and make her look as small as possible under TBM’s judging eyes.

While she taps away, Blaine turns to the stranger. “Can you believe this?”

“Considering I need my luggage for ArtBasel in Miami to avoid ridicule and represent my boss, I find it very hard to believe that I am stuck in Kentucky without it!” the man replies hotly and Blaine nods. Blaine’s calm seems to have an effect on TBM who takes a deep breath. “Sorry, it’s not your fault, we’re in the same boat. What’s your destination?”

“New York,” Blaine replies. “I had a break between jobs and decided to visit the family back in Ohio, but I’m considering building a time machine just to make any other decision.”

The man gives him a long look before letting a small smile stretch his lips.

And boy does it change his whole appearance;if Blaine thought that his TBM was, well, beautiful before, it’s nothing compared to what he thinks now.

“A fellow adoptive New Yorker via Ohio?” the man asks and Blaine nods. “What are the odds.”

“Indeed.”

“Ah, alright, Mr. Hummel,” the employee exclaims, and they both turn a dark look at her for interrupting. “I--I, um, have found your baggage.”

“Yes…?”

“It’s in Dallas, apparently.”

“In Texas?” TBM--or Mr. Hummel, apparently--shouts, before looking up in desperation. “Are you kidding me?”

“But we-we m-made the call, and your luggage is on the next flight from Texas.”

A deep breath--and Blaine does not notice the way this movement stretches the man’s shirt over his chest--before slamming his hand on the counter. “How long will it be?”

“Two hours, two hours and a half,” the employee says. “As a goodwill gesture, here are a couple of coupons for the airport’s lounge bar, for you to wait at our expense.”

TBM snatches the coupons and stomps away, muttering unflattering things about flights and Texas and Kentucky. Blaine clears his throat and the employee returns her attention to him.

“What about my luggage?” he asks, and in the distance, he can hear the stomping pausing, as if his beautiful stranger is waiting nearby.

“Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson,” the employee mumbles, eyes scanning her screen. “Ah, Mr. Anderson! Your luggage is in M--”

“Yes?”

“Miami.”

“I don’t mean no disrespect, but what are your employees on?” Blaine asks as politely as he can.

“I really don’t know what happened in Cincinnati, sir,” she replies, voice wavering with tears. “Your baggage should be arriving in Miami in twenty minutes, and then it will be another two hours and 40 minutes to get here.”

“You don’t say.”

“Here, just like for the previous gentleman, a couple of coupons for the airport’s lounge to wait at our exp--”

“Got the memo,” Blaine says between gritted teeth, snatching the coupons out of her hand before walking away.

It’s not her fault, but if he doesn’t go somewhere else, he’s going to be stripped of his gentlemanly honor.

The lounge is fairly easy to spot: in the utter whiteness of the airport, the bar’s dark woods and red velvet chair are a breath of fresh air of colors.

Blaine finds his partner in misery sitting at the bar, prattling on a fairly complicated order.

“... no eggs, and a side of fries, brown and crunchy, and I’ll have some sauce tartare with that, and I’ll have a cheesecake afterwards--make it a Devil’s cake. And Champagne--all covered by the coupons, right?”

“Right sir.”

“There you go, then,” the man says, and Blaine would be shocked by his lack of manners if he didn’t call the barman right after to thank him.

“Hello,” Blaine says softly to the second bartender. “I have these coupons, from Pavarotti Airlines?”

She twists her mouth into a polite smile. “What can I get you sir?”

Blaine glances at the menu and smiles at her as charmingly as possible. “I’ll have a Caesar salad with ...um, sweet potato fries, a Coke-float and I’ll have an Old-Fashioned cocktail with an orange slice. Please,” he adds before it can be considered impolite.

The bartender types it all and smiles at him, a bit more sincerely this time. “Right away sir.”

Blaine sits on his barstool, dropping his briefcase and his jacket on the seat next to him.

“Stranded too, uh?”

He turns his head to look at his TBM. “Yep. For the next three hours,” he adds and the man winces in sympathy before standing up and sitting closer to him.

“I’m Kurt.”

“Blaine,” he replies as they shake hands. Both their drinks get deposited on the counter, and Kurt offers Blaine a glass of champagne.

“To poorly delivered luggage,” he says, clinking their glasses.

“To chance encounters in Kentucky,” Blaine replies, looking at Kurt over the rim of his glass.

“Indeed,” Kurt murmurs before sipping some of his drink. “Ah, at least the alcohol is good.”

Blaine chuckles, stirring the orange into his cocktail. “Small mercies.”

The bartender puts a plate of Cobb Salad and brown French fries in front of Kurt while the other serves Blaine’s order, and they dig in their food wholeheartedly.

“Eating your feelings?”

“You bet,” Kurt says, mouth full. “I should be on my way to one of the most important events of the season, sipping on a bad Bloody Mary and picturing myself in Miami.”

“Instead, you have good champagne and the possibility of picturing yourself in Miami”, Blaine replies, neatly eating his salad and fries.

“True, true,” Kurt says thoughtfully before picking another fry and tapping it against his lips.

Blaine focuses on his own plate, lest he starts fantasizing about turning into a fry himself.

He’s getting close to the appropriate temperature anyway.

“Are you gay, Blaine?”

Blaine nearly chokes on a piece of chicken, but he manages to keep on breathing and turns to look at Kurt. “Beg your pardon?”

Kurt flushes and he wipes his fingers on his napkin. “I’m sorry, that was really rude, but I wanted to find a subtle way to find out if you’d like to hang out in New York when we both get back there, and--”

“Subtle?”

“Keyword, find, and it just came out like I have no filter.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Blaine replies, actually amused by Kurt’s bluntness. “And maybe you’re right to stay away from subtle.”

“Depends,” Kurt says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Are you?”

“Out and proud,” Blaine says with a cockily raised eyebrow, “and single.”

“Is that so?”

He nods with a playfully sad smile.

“I have to straighten this up, then,” Kurt says, his right hand sliding across the counter to brush against Blaine’s wrist.

“Not too much, though,” Blaine replies, unable to resist, and he’s rewarded by Kurt’s beaming smile and laughter.

“I promise,” he finally says, voice dropping, “when we meet again in New York, there will not be a single straight thing.”

Blaine can feel his cheeks heating up, but he covers Kurt’s hand with his own nonetheless. “That’s a date then.”

“That’s a date.”

A couple of weeks later, when they do have their date as a lunch in the park, eating fried chicken and cafecito, Blaine wonders if it was really such a disaster to be stranded in Kentucky with Kurt, or if it was meant to be.


End file.
